


Unwilling but for Pride

by snarkengaged



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkengaged/pseuds/snarkengaged
Summary: Just a place for me to collect any old short writings on my Dunmeri Dragonborn, Valvesu. It's going to be fairly scattered, probably.





	Unwilling but for Pride

The swiftness of her arrows were too good for Arondil. He deserved a slower, more gristly fate, but she couldn’t bare to get close. He made her skin crawl. Even the hottest flames she could call out of her didn’t burn him the way she wished too, after. She stared down at him, smoke making her eyes water.

In a way, it had settled something in her. She had been conflicted, about her vampirism-the connections with Molag Bal, how it played against her heritage. But the idea of her body, after her death, being used like-

for _experiments_ -

mortality being turned on it’s head so cheaply and for such horrific use-

Valvesu would go on to live a long life, but she would never speak to anyone of the bodies in the halls of Yngvild Barrow. She’d been idly toying with the school of Conjuration-she didn’t want to think about her plans to get out of the Princes’ ties directly, for fear of what they might do if they got wind of it-but now. Now she felt…at ease, strangely. She wouldn’t just use her summonings to tie the Daedra down, to keep herself safe. She could use it to give peace. 

She’d be haunted for many years by the Yngvild womans’ ghosts croaking, “Thank you” as they turned to dust. When one young girl’s voice had wheezed,“At last,” with such obvious relief, she had dropped her dagger, shocked, and stayed still for quite some time. When she moved again, her skin was covered in a sheen of frost. 

This was not some great and unlikely thing. No daedra had pulled at his heartstrings to do this. Arondil was…like any other. The Butcher, and now Yngvild…

When she arrived home, she was silent, kicking the snow off her boots at Hjerim’s hearth. Jenassa eyed her, but said nothing. Erith and Braith’s chatter seemed to thaw her, eventually, but there was a hint of cold worry in her gaze when she looked at them now.

After the children had been tucked in, Jenassa silently creeped up behind her wife. Val startled to movement in front of the fireplace in the kitchen. Her eyes, even with their new, strange glow, seemed troubled. Jen watched the slump of her shoulders, and waited.

“I want to move,” the Dragonborn said quietly, finally.

“…of course, my dear,” Jen murmured. “A professional can work anywhere, it won’t be a trouble to me. Did you have somewhere in mind?”

Val stared at the fire. “Not yet. Just-not here. Not in this house.”


End file.
